Two Days after Never
by TenTenD
Summary: The book Daenys and Maega have found contains quite a story. Of course they know Lyanna Stark who rose from a poor, helpless girl to rule over an empire, but the tracing her journey one page at a time is irresistible to two young girl with dreams in their head. They envision a dark fairytale with a she-wolf for protagonist,but what they get is something else.
1. Prologue

"It was not a happy home she had with her Storm lord," Daeny says giving Maega a slight push with her foot. "Can you really blame her for searching for happiness elsewhere?"

"Well, no." Maega's serious face becomes slightly sullen. "But he died fairly quick. Why didn't she marry the King then?"

Daeny smiles softly at her little sister who is trying too hard to understand all the reasons. "When Robert Baratheon rebelled against the throne he did a great disservice to Lyanna. As his widow she was treated no better than a person touched by plague."

"That's not fair!" That a man's foolishness should reflect so on a wife he barely even spent time with seems a crime to Maega's mind.

"It isn't." Daeny Stark shakes her heap for emphasis. "Nothing else either. But she still turned it all around . She became Queen. So, do you want to hear the story or not?"

"Yes!" Maega settles down on the bed, cross-legged and attentive to her older sister who pulls out the tome. "That's gonna take a while, isn't it?"

_280 AL_

_Lyanna Stark cried in the comfortable darkness of her room. They were set to do this. They were truly going to wed her to Robert Baratheon. "Oh, Gods," she cried in her pillow. "Anything but that." She had met him and she knew him to be quite affable on first glance. However if one probed deeper they would find the beginning of a nightmare. Her father meant well, but he knew only of Robert's skill and the status of his family, not about the imbibing or of the bastards. If he'd known, Lyanna was sure he would have not given her hand in marriage to such a man. Father respected honour._

_In somewhat of a daze, the young she-wolf crawled from under her covers and snuck outside her room. Barefoot she tiptoed across the halls and down the narrow staircase. The round moon lit her way as she left the torches behind. The snow was soft and cold beneath her feet, the sting of needles making her feel alive, as did the wind blowing her hair. She reached the entrance of the godswood with a prayer on her lips and dread burrowed deep in her heart. "Don't let him get me." Her Gods would protect her here, they would watch over her. "Please, let me stay." The carved face remained motionless to her plea. "I beg you," she half whispered, her feet carrying her closer to the edge of the small pond which had frozen. She was liable to catch a chill, but Lyanna did not care for such things. "Better that I die free." _

_Her night of prayer brought comfort, the cold, dark sort that is too swiftly blown apart by the first rays of sun. Aye, for when the morning came, gold spilling over ink, then came her father also. Rickard Stark was not pleased to find his daughter where she was, curled under the red leaves. He marched her back to her rooms with a frown and a scold and then he added a rap to her knuckles. "She is not to leave her rooms, Nan. Not until Robert Baratheon comes for her."_

_"Then let me not leave these rooms forever," Lyanna said to the emptiness and to the stones and to the fire burning low in the hearth. _

_Alas, her fate had never been her own. She to be passed from one man to another as they deemed fit, her voice ignored, her pleas left unheard. Not even the Gods would help her. She would learn when the years had passed over her that hers was a men's world, and men rarely paid attention to women if there was nothing to be gained of it. Few were those that felt for the hardships of women and fewer still those who would be impressed by them. Nay, Lyanna would have to make her own way using what wit she had. _

_Robert Baratheon came a fortnight into her captivity and under the tree he swore himself to her under the vigilant eyes of a Septon and she replied in kind, but her words were faded, her heart far from them, drowned in it's sorrow. However she was given one kindness._

_"What mean you that she is not yet flowered?" Robert boomed._

_"Calm yourself, Lord Baratheon. She is yet three-and-ten. For certain she will be fully bloomed in a few months. I simply ask that you keep away from her bed until such."_

_Bedding a woman unflowered was regarded as degenerated and crude, punishable in the eyes of Robert's gods. Lyanna did not grant them their fate. She kept to her own, yet this turn of events suited her all too well. Robert's touch woke fright into her, it made her tremble in disgust to see his eyes on her when she danced with Benjen or Eddard. She had little pity in her heart for the man and was critical of him and his ways._

_"He does love you, Lya," Eddard tried to persuade her. "Just allow him to and you shall be happy for it."_

_"Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature." And those words should not have come out of the mouth of a child. They were wise in the way of old women. Despite her love of frolic, Lyanna had learned long ago that life was no game. She left her brother standing and joined her husband who by then was well in his cups._

_And that was the wedding of Lyanna Stark to Robert of House Baratheon as it was recorded and as it was sung by those who had attended._

_"I shall make you happy, sweet Lya," Robert slurred, grinning widely at her. "You will like Storm's End. The sea is beautiful and wild. Just like you." Such unguarded comments from the mouth of strangers had ever made her uncomfortable, so Lyanna kept her silence. "Here, have a drink!" Robert pushed the wine cup into her hands._

_"I am not thirsty, my lord." _

_"Drink, I said," Robert snapped the next moment, eyes clouding over. "Do not disobey me, my lady."_

_Sensing eyes watching her and remembering quite well that as a wife she was under the power of her husband, she raised the cup to her lips and took a mouthful, chocking on the bitter taste. She had no love for wine. As the liquid slid down her throat she swore to herself that it was only this once. Never again would he have command of her after she was no longer under the watchful eyes of her father. Aye, once South she would find a way to freedom._

_Doubtlessly, the sae would greet her with open arms should she have no other option in sight. And in truth the thought of water's cold embrace suited her well enough, better than the sharing of her husband's bed when she finally flowered. Alas she was beyond hoping that the day would not come. When it did, if she could, she would give herself to the waves._

"She should have just run away!" Maega interrupts. Her outburst has Daeny rising her eyes from the page and pushing her glasses back.

"Maega, if you can't listen, I'll stop reading." They are very similar, Maega and she. Daeny sets the open book on the sheets. They think along the same lines. It would have been wonderful for Lyanna to escape her marriage so easily. But those are fairytales. Lyanna's story is a true one, and like all the facts of life it mingles the sweet with the bitter.

"Don't stop reading," Maega whines. "I promise not to interrupt again. Just don't stop."

Daeny looks at the clock. "It's late." It is late, way past Maega's bedtime. "But I'll tell you what, you help me do the dishes," her sister's groan interrupts her. Daenys huffs. She goes on louder, "If you help me do the dishes, I'll finish my homework really quick tomorrow. Mom and dad are going to go to that party and the two of us can continue reading. What do you say?"

"Until late?" Maega does resent being treated like a baby, almost as much as she hates having to go to bed early. Not that she actually does, Daeny knows.

"Until as late as you can stand." Daeny bends the corner of the page they are on. "Put this under your bed." But it is she who does it. The book is heavy.

Lady Lyanna, Daeny thinks, is a wonder of sorts. From a helpless girl to a powerful woman, she dodged intrigue and played those who would have played her. It is no easy thing, her story is not a most happy one, but she is a fighter and in that a victor. Little wonder that her legend had endured until today. Daeny feels almost giddy at sharing her last name with such a woman. 


	2. eald enta geweorc

"Now, remember what I told you. If there is any problem, any problem at all, you can call either me or your mother." Rickard tells his oldest daughter. Sara nods along to her husband's words with a small smile on her face. "And don't let your sister stay up too late. I know it's Friday, but I will not have her tired tomorrow. You know how Maega is when she's tired."

"Okay, I get it!" Daeny mumbles, crossing her fingers behind her back. "I'll take care of everything. You guys go out and have fun."

They mean well, her parents do, yet Daeny wants to shout at them to leave already. They do this every Friday with regularity for as long as Daeny can remember. When it was just her they would call Mrs. Karstark to watch her. Daeny had hated that. But now she is in charge. As the older sister she has to watch over Maega and see that everything is how it should be.

Usually she would go to her room to read, or she would work on the various projects and assignments she had. But not tonight. Tonight she has other plans. Right after Maega finishes washing the dishes, like she has promised, she will continue reading Lyanna's story. Daeny nearly grinned at the thought. All day today she has been thinking about it. Why she didn't even hear Mrs. Wolf prattle on in class about the incontestable value of Charles Dickens. Dickens is an alright writer, Daeny reckons, but he has nothing of this story she's reading, as such she won't bother to listen to the teacher build the man a pedestal. Lyanna Stark, on the other hand, she does want to hear about.

"Okay. Everything is settled then." Sara straightens Rickard's tie. "You girls take care. If you're hungry look in the fridge. If you don't want anything from there, we've left you money-"

"By the Venetian vase, I know, mom." Why aren't they leaving? "Maega and I will be just fine. We're big girls." Though they seem unconvinced the parents smile at her. "You'll be late."

"Quite right," Rickard agrees, looking down at his wristwatch. "Let's go Sara and leave the young ladies to their own business." He leans down to kiss his wife.

There is something disturbing about seeing one's parents kiss. Daeny rolls her eyes and produces a low whine. She turns around and calls her sister. She must have finished doing those dishes by now. "Come on, Maega. Mom and dad are leaving."

"Coming!" Her little sister is as good as her word for nor a moment later she bounds down the hall, wet skin shining in the light. "Bye mom! Bye dad! Have fun!"

"Bye sweetie," Sara replies, kissing her youngest daughter's cheeks. Then she kisses Daeny's. "Bye darling. You have fun too." The process is repeated with their father and then the patents are off and it's just the two girls, all alone, in the house.

"Lock the door," Daeny instructs and then come up to your room. I'll get us some hot tea and biscuits and then I'll come up too."

"Let operation A.S.R. begin!" Maega excitedly cries.

"Operation A.S.R.?" Daeny repeats dumbly. "You say the strangest things. But Maega does not hear her, so the elder sister goes to the kitchen to retrieve what is needed. By the time she gets up, Maega has pulled the book from under the bed and it stays open on the sheets.

Daeny hops on the bed and passes a cup of tea to her sister. The other she places on the nightstand. "I'll start reading now," she announces.

_280 AL _

_The wheelhouse was a nightmare to be ridden in. Lyanna had wanted to ride her mare, but ladies did not ride and she was now fully a lady. Old Nan had joined her and would be staying with the young girl until she had her first blood. After that it would be up to her husband to find her proper companions. Lyanna had rolled her eyes at that, but she was forced to accept it whether she liked it or not._

_Old Nan was combing her long hair while at the same time speaking of her strange tales. "The Wildlings are a strange lot, my darling," the crone murmured. "Aye, they are. Their women fight alongside the men and they only share the furs on a man who wins them. He must best them in combat to have them. Strange lot."_

_To Lyanna's ears that sounded like paradise. If only she were a Wildling woman. "Beyond the wall I could have had a chance." She would not have had to be the wife of a man she did not want. "It is a pity."_

_"Nay, child, no pity. The Wildling are a strange folk. They thrive and grow like the gnarled branches of trees. But there is danger, great danger. It is no place for a lady. No place for a lady. They give their children to the cold death. They give them up for safety, fools. They are not safe. No one is safe."_

_One of the many perks of having grown up in Winterfell was that she had become accustomed to these ramblings which did not make any sense. Old Nan was fond of telling her scary stories of otherworldly beings. "The Other aren't real, Nan."_

_"You think, child?" The old woman cackled pulling on the braid she had been working on. "They are real, summer child. They are as real as you and I." But Lyanna wishes she was as real as the Others. "They come in the long night. Cold and foul. They spared none the last they ruled over the realm. Aye, Kings or sheppards, they all died, succumbed to the freezing cold. Not even the babes and women heavy were shown mercy. What do you know of the White Walkers, summer child?"_

_"Do stop, Nan. I am no summer child. It is in Winterfell that I was born and raised. I am Winter." Old tales, Lyanna dismissed Nan's words with nary a thought. If she were to believe everything she heard, where would that leave her? White Walker? For shame, those were stories meant to scare children into submission. "I will hear no more of this nonsense. You claim I am a lady, then as a lady this is my directive. No more talk of fictitious beasts." _

_"T'was a Stark, you know? Who bedded the Winter Queen. Aye, a Stark he was and she his icy lover." Gnarled hands rested on supple arms. "Stark and winter, aye, tied together, bound forever."_

_Sighing deeply Lyanna fought the urge to shake the woman's grip. A whole moon of listening to such talk, she was going insane. "May the gods protects us then."_

_"They have no power here," the old woman said before starting to hum softly. She dropped the braid, half unfinished, leaving it to Lyanna to do the rest. The crone stared into nothingness._

_Knowing little would come out of pestering the woman when she was so, Lyanna settled back against the cushions. They were nearing the hold of her husband. Lyanna fancied she could feel the salty scent of the sea in the air. Cliffs and waters, abrupt cliffs and freezing waters. A watery grave would be her solace once she bled her first. Storm's End hadn't always been the main domain of House Baratheon. Long ago when the name Baratheon was bore by a Targaryen bastard it had been the castle of House Durrendon. With the fall of Argilac the Arrogant it became his daughter's. But war made cowards out of men and cowards were monsters. They had Argella Durrendon bound in chains and given to Orys Baratheon. 'Ours is the fury' had been her words. Baratheon had taken them and the seal. Interloper. Lyanna thought with dread about the seal of her own House. Were the Starks to lose their rulership how would she feel to see her words and her direwolf tied to the name of another. For Lyanna was a Stark no matter what the Septons said. She was a wolf, and when the time was right her fangs would tear through the stag's neck. Noble animal or not, did Baratheon think that she would bow to a by-blow, when she had the blood of kings in her veins? The Kings of the North, the king Beyond-the-Wall. The strength of the First Men, the wildness of the direwolf. She would not be cowed by a pair of horns when her claws could cut far deeper. Argella Durrendon and she, they were so very close to reflecting the same image, yet Lyanna promised to herself that she would not do as the other woman had done. For his fury could not withstand Winter and Lyanna planned to be Winter to her very bones._

_Storm's End was a giant looming before them on sharp cliffs. Lyanna had looked out the small window she had been provided with. There was little to be seen, yet she could see Storm's End. Winterfell was probably grander and yet how could men build such things. Nay, it must have been the work of giants. Those heavy stones and the sheer force of its structure. But of course that meant nothing. Dragons could burn such a place to the ground, they could fry the inhabitants in the blink of an eye. Harrenhal had been a lesson to all of Westeros. Balerion the Black Dread. Meraxes. Vhaghar. Lyanna though of wings big enough to span the whole of Robert's men. She thought of rivers of fire. Dreadful. To die burned alive. It had been the fate of Harren. It still haunted his castles some said. Men went to sleep and dreamed of fire and when they woke they had burn marks covering them, that was if they woke at all. Some would just disappear into the night, presumably turned into ash and blown away by the wind. Mayhap Lyanna ought to convince her husband to visit Harrenhal with her. _

_"My lady, step out of your shelter and come upon my horse," Robert Baratheon's voice boomed just as the wheelhouse came to a sudden halt. "Come now."_

_Lyanna snarled, but she obediently stepped outside and gave the man a heated glare. "I thank you, my lord, for the kindness." For he might have seen it as a kindness to have her hoisted upon his horse. But she did not. It was humiliating, to be thus presented to the men of his company, like some sort of trophy, like an object._

_"You are most welcome, wife." His bearded chin rested atop her head, the heat and scent of sweat clung to him like a second skin. Lyanna froze in his hold like a mouse might when confronted by a serpent. Her mind rebelled against his taking advantage of her. "I hope you will like it here. Just think, we shall raise our babes by the sea."_

_The very thought of bearing him children disconcerted her. Lyanna was a female, and the maternal instinct was not lacking within her, yet that did not make her willing to have offspring with just any man. And to her Robert was that, just any man. "Yes, my lord, we shall." Giving the man a false sense of safety was her best course of action. If there was anything Lyanna had learned it was that in life one had to compromise, yet with one's mind one could not make such compromises. Thus if one could not stand clean before one's inner eye then it was with shame he would ever greet the world around._

_Lyanna found herself the centre of attention once she had passed the gates. The servants had come out to greet their master and once their eyes landed on the young bride, Lyanna could well see their mouths itching to move. They thought her a strange creature mayhap. One fair maiden for their handsome lord. Or rather another fair maiden for their handsome lord._

_Robert spoke a short introduction, presenting her as his lady wife, after which he bent down and pressed a small kiss to her firm, unyielding lips. He treated her as if she were an unbroken horse, skittish and still half-crazed for freedom. And Lyanna supposed she was something of that sort. She felt a ghost. People looked through her, as if she were glass as easy to see through as a crystal. _

_There was a Sept. Lyanna noticed it only as she looked to the east. It was small and looked untended. But of course she hadn't expected that Robert would bring prayer to his gods. The man was too busy drinking himself under the table, she reckoned. Bitter wine, Lyanna tasted it on her tongue. Ivy was climbing the blackened walls. Had someone tried to set it afire? While Lyanna held no love for the Southron gods, she disliked sacrilege. It was a broken vow from those who had pledged themselves to the fate. Before she could think anymore on the subject, she came face to face with Robert's siblings._

_Stannis Baratheon, a gave child, his face already made of stone, curtsied with a grim look about his features. "We welcome you to Storm's End, Lady Baratheon." All sharp angles and stiff mannerism. _

_Renly giggled and tried to imitate his brother. Unfortunately grace eluded the boy and he somehow managed to trip himself knocking into Lyanna's middle. Instinctively, the she-wolf encircled the boy in her arms. Seemingly taking her gesture to heart the small stag threw his arms around her. "My mamma was Lady Baratheon too. Does that mean you can be my momma?" _

_Heart tearing itself in two, Lyanna combed back the boy's thick curls. What could she say to that? "Wouldn't you rather that I were your good-sister?" She did remember that Robert's parents had lost their lives not too long ago. Likely Renly had been too young to properly know them, and that was the reason for which he would have granted her the place of mother._

_"You're pretty, just like momma, and you smell nice too." A compliment of the highest order if Lyanna had ever heard one. Her father should have given her to Renly in marriage. Such a sweet boy he was, innocent and affable. "Are you really going to be my good-sister? We can play court and I will show you all the best places. I will be a knight and you will be a fair maiden and-"_

_"Enough little brother. Let go of the lady," Robert sternly directed, figuratively throwing a bucket of cold water over girl and boy. Dark blue eyes scrutinized the small boy. Renly, probably, frightened by the wildness in the older brother's eyes allowed his hands to fall. Stannis pulled the child back._

_White-faced, Lyanna eyed her husband with something like venom. She swallowed the reprimand that came to the forefront of her mouth. She would not make a scene. Silently she promised to herself that once she had rid herself of Robert she would allow Renly his games. Until then she would have to content herself with smiling a small, encouraging smile at the child. _

_"My Lord, may I ask you a question?" Lyann ironically began when they were finally left on their own, pulling slightly away as Robert made to grab at her. His nod was her cue. "Why is it that you chose me?"_

_"Come with me." And quite suddenly Robert's whole demeanour had suffered a drastic change. Where once he'd tried to warm her to his touch he now backed away and started towards one entrance that was by far the least grand. Inside there was a gallery and on the walls hung portraits. Lyanna could only assume that they were late kinsmen of his. Robert stopped before what looked like a newer one. From within the gauze a woman stared at them. "My mother," Robert breathed out. "Lady Cassanna."_

_Cassana Estermont, Lady Baratheon. She had been a beautiful woman. Not the merely pretty of Lyanna. Nay, this was a truly beautiful woman with a light brown curls and wide blue eyes, a shade paler than her son's, and a mouth made for smiling._

_"You look a lot like her." The comment brought Lyanna out of her thoughts. She looked towards Robert and it dawned upon her that his affection for her, or whatever it was that compelled him to tear her away from the safety of her home and force her to his side, was a lot like an illness of the eye. It quite distorted the image he had of the world, and subsequently of her. "She would have liked you."_

_The inkling suspicion that Lady Baratheon would have better liked a woman grown that could also bring something to her son's chests made Lyanna smile. "If you say so, my Lord." She supposed that she too would have liked Lady Baratheon if only for the polished surface she presented. _

_So that had been it? He'd been searching for some sort of substitute for his lost mother. Lyanna's eyes lingered on the woman in the portrait. Those eyes of hers, they seemed to come to life and if she strained she could almost hear a pleasant voice asking her to bring happiness to the castle, to bring happiness to her sons. Lyanna's smile turned bitter. It was not she who could bring the sun on the shadow lands. Turning away she looked to the other portraits hung. "Is there no portrait of Orys Baratheon, my Lord?"_

_At the mention of his ancestor the stag's face turned ashen. "The Targaryen bastard? Nay. No portrait of him or his lady survives."_

_Targaryen bastard or not, Lyanna considered, it was to Orys Baratheon that Robert owed his seat. Still she held herself back. What use was it to argue so early into their marriage? "I see. Very well then, I do believe I should like to rest awhile." _

_There was a small fire in the hearth. Lyanna knelt by it, warming her hands. Old Nan had been given quarters away from hers and a young maid was to see to her needs. "You needn't the crone. Let Alys care for you until we may find suitable ladies to attend to your needs." Those had been Robert's words. Lyanna had acquiesced with a small nod._

_"Shall I get you anything, m'lady? Wine? Food?" Alys, bless her soul, was a kind girl, slightly older than Lyanna. She had a son about Renly's age, Brynden Waters. A good woman, Lyanna thought, sneaking a glance to Alys, and a good mother._

_"Nay, Alys. Sit with me awhile." The invitation was followed by Lyanna gesturing towards a chair. "I have a few questions to ask you. What happened to the Sept?"_

_"Oh, that's an old story, m'lady," Alys brushed it off. "You needn't concern yourself over it. How do you like your new home, m'lady?"_

_Ah, so she was not to know anything about the burnt Sept. "I shall need some time to get used to it, beautiful though it is." She hadn't the heart to tell her differently. Storm's End was not and would never be her home._

_Staring into the flames Lyanna could not help but be mesmerized by them. Fire was not only warm, it had a sort of beauty, primal and uncontainable. Different from the icy splendour of her own homeland. The flames wild, her home had been untamed and seemingly untouched by the hands of her. For a brief moment Lyanna allowed herself to see the crystal flowers bloom along the walls. She thought of the light scent of snow. Right until her vision was dashed by waves crashing into cliffs. Nay, the scent of snow was far behind her. She now heard the sea moaning and trashing, and she saw the clear skies through the window, not the heavy clouds promising a snowstorm._

_"Is there a beach here, Alys?" She'd heard that sometimes by the sea there were beaches with smooth warm sand. The opposite of snow, yet not all that different. She could built a snow castle as easily as she used to make snow forts in the Wolfswood. A big castle by the waterline. Perhaps the little stag would join her. He seemed amendable to such ideas._

_"Aye, m'lady. There's a beach not a long walk away from the castle. Mayhap on the morrow after you are better rested you should like to visit it." The girl smiled. "Whose to say m'lord won't join you."_

_"Oh, I wouldn't dream to keep Lord Baratheon from his own dealings. Nay, I believe I shall content myself with Renly if he wishes to come." Heavens forbid. Lyanna would not have her husband there. She needed peace. In fact if she had her way, Robert would be knee-deep in the woes and cares of his house and home. "There then, on the morrow you will join me and little Renly. What say you, Alys? Will you bring Brynden along?"_

_"Would you like me to tell you a bedtime story?" Old Nan asked just as Lyanna climbed into her bed. "What kind of stories do you like?"_

_"I'm too old for stories," the young woman laughed gently. She took her hair to one side and began braiding it. "Why do you not tell me about the Others since you seem rather fond of those stories."_

_"No stories those, sweetling." Old Nan plopped herself down on a wooden chair. Her wrinkled skin shone pale in the dim light. "Do you know why it is they came? The White Walkers?" _

_"Nay." Lyanna almost laughed at the woman. It was silly that in her old age she still delved upon such childish stories. "I suppose they were some sort of punishment. Men must have angered the gods somehow." Men always did thus. They fought and killed each other until there was little left for the gods, and that angered them. Lyanna was not surprised that they would send such creatures to punish the humankind. T'was not hard to believe. Not when her Gods watched a world tinted in red. What was it to them to see the ground darken more? "Punishment. A show of power. But if they destroyed the very thing they created, where would they be left? Are Gods anything without us?" Such questions. Lyanna blinked._

_"Gods have existed long before us, and so they shall long after we are gone." There was a certain sort of wisdom to be found in such words, yet Lyanna refused it. "They control everything, child."_

_Empires have risen and fallen, men have lived and died, and the gods endured. Did they care for these people they had fashioned, or were they playing some sort of game? Was it a test? "Not me. I will be free of them."_

_"None of us are free." Again Lyanna was confronted by the harsh truth of life. "And you cannot escape the gods, ne'er. Not in your heart. Not in your mind."_

_"But they have no power here," Lyanna cried out. "You said so yourself. They have no power here."_

_"Power is what you make it to be." Seeming to take pity on the lady, Old Nan smiled crookedly. "I shall tell you a tale of happy times, child, so you may sleep and have sweet dreams." _

_What use were sweet dreams to her? Lyanna wanted to scoff at the woman but she dared not, not when Old Nan was the only reminder of home she had in the sea of strangeness. A story couldn't hurt, especially not one of happy times. Lyanna had known few of those, mainly when she was a wee lass and her Benjen had been her friend, Eddard her protector, Brandon the insufferable teaser. Happier times. She would hold those close to her heart. _

_"Once upon a time, back when the trees roamed the earth on unsteady roots and dragons flew upon the darkened skies lighting them with fires, back when the sun was but a weal spark and the moon a beacon, there existed a man by the name of Arnor. He dwelled in a cold river that used to be called Seres. This Arnor loved one of those winged creatures we now call dragons. He spied the she-dragon while she flew high in the sky, and the gleam of her scales in the weak light of her flames, scales shining like precious stones, endeared her to him; so much so that for her he came upon the shores, where he held little sway…"_

_Rhaegar Targaryen cooed softly to his daughter. Her dark eyes looked to him trustingly. "Do not worry, little love," he said, stroking back her hair gently. "Papa is here, nothing can harm you while I am here." Her night terrors were not uncommon. Rhaegar had expected it. "What has you frightened?"_

_Rhaenys pointed to the bed. Rhaegar smiled at her. "Shall papa look under the bed?" She nodded solemnly. The Prince inclined his head. "As my Princess commands. This Knight shan't rest until ever last one of those creatures is far, far away, unable to cause you any discomfort." He dent down on his knees and peeked under the bed. "Ah, I see. Brave Princess, I am about to face a foul foe. Would you give me a kiss? For good luck." _

_His daughter giggled and scooted closer to him. Her small hand came to rest on his cheek and she pressed an artless kiss on the other side of his face. "Thank you, fair Lady. I shall save you." Again he lowered himself to the ground and went under the bed only to re-emerge on the other side with a victorious grin on his handsome face. "All gone, Princess, every last one of them."_

_"How?" she asked breathlessly, twin pools reflecting the night sky staring at him._

_The father leaned in, "Magic," he told her, wrapping her in his arms. "Your mother taught it to me, you know? She was a beautiful Princess, just like you. She came from a land far away and she brought with her the magic of her people."_

_"Magic?" Rhaenys repeated. "Do magic again."_

_"Magic drains one so," Rhaegar said. "I shall close my eyes for a few moments, and the we shall both do magic. Here, come. Let us rest awhile and then I will teach you magic."_

_Obediently little Rhaenys closed her eyes, and Rhaegar could feel her breathing growing even. He looked down to her. She was so much like her mother, all shadow top his light. Elia would had loved her the moment she laid eyes on her, small and wet and crying her lungs out. Rhaegar had fallen for her when they put her in his arms. He still remembered the day. Elia had been in her bed for three days already. It seemed that Rhaenys had loved the warmth of her mother's womb too much to come any earlier. _

_After she had given birth, Rhaegar remembered, that Elia had cried too while murmuring sweet nothings to the babe. Had she lived to see her daughter grow, he was sure she would have been just as enthralled by her as he. "She would have made you flower crown and braided your hair." Elia would have been a good mother. Death had claimed her too soon, his wife._

_It hadn't been exactly love that had tied them together, but Rhaegar had cared for her in his own way. Elia had been gentle and sweet, with a sharper wit than many had been able to see. She would have made a good Queen, just as good as she'd been a wife. Rhaegar wondered at times how he would have passed these years had Elia been by his side. _

_A knock on the door had him placing Rhaenys under the covers and taking his leave in as gentle a manner as he could muster. He opened said door to see who it was that disturbed him at such an hour. It hardly came as a surprise to see Cersei Lannister._

_The oldest of Lord Tywin's twins, Lady Cersei had made it a sort of personal mission to follow him around and from time to time make passes at him. She meant well, the dear girl, but he feared her father would have quite a shock if ever he found out what she was up to._

_"I thought I would find you here, Your Grace," she said in a low voice, quiet as to not wake the sleeping child she knew to be in the chamber. _

_"The hour is late, my lady," Rhaegar murmured. "You mustn't be out in the night. Go back to your chambers." Her pouting face reminded him of Rhaenys. "Cersei Lannister, need I get one of the Kingsguards to help you find your way?" That would certainly cause quite a racket and no end of questions and gossip._

_"I only wanted to help," she sulkily declared. Cersei tossed her blond mane over her shoulder. "Why do you always treat me as if I were a child?"_

_For the sole reason that he had no interest in bedding beautiful Cersei Lannister. She had the shape of a woman, but her heart was that of a child. She wanted the love she heard about in songs and foolishly sought it in him. Rhaegar dared a small smile. "Thank you for the kind thought. It is help enough, my lady. Allow me to see you safely to your rooms."_

_That seemed to please her well enough. Cersei locked her arm around his and leaned her rounded chest against the upper part of his arm. Rhaegar shook his head at her transparency. She was a child. He allowed her leeway nonetheless for the fact that, being such, she knew not what her actions meant. Rhaegar convinced herself that come a young knight to sweep her off her feet she would outgrow the fondness she now seemingly possessed for him. _

"What does that have to do with Lyanna?" Maega asked suddenly. "And who are all those people."

"Hush, Meaga. We will find out soon enough." Daeny raised her head from the book and looked at the clock. "But not this night. I do believe it is almost time for mom and dad to be back. Now, if they ask, you went to be at nine sharp."

"Fine," the younger sister groaned. "Tomorrow will you read again?"

"You can be sure. Now sleep." Daeny pulled the blanket over Maega and hid the book under the bed. She went over and turned off the lights, then put on a nightlight. After that, daeny climbed into her own bed and pulled her own covers up to her chin. "Sweet dreams."

"To you too. Nighty night."

* * *

**_A/N: Title from Old English poetry. It means "old work of the giants"._**


	3. el rey de francia

_280 AL_

_Lyanna giggled at Renly's enthusiasm. "There now, brave knight, have a care not to knock your castle over." Her warning went unheeded as the boy ran around, stick in hand, shouting commands at Brynden who hurried to follow them. Alys sat by Lyanna, as any self-respecting lady-in-waiting would. "Shush, my dear Alys. Should we distract our valiant saviours all hope is lost." At that the woman burst into peels of laughter. Lyanna followed suit. "Oh, what it is to be young and free!" She missed the days when she could do as she pleased and not be questioned on ever little detail._

_Her third day at the beach was a success. Renly and Brynden had made fast friends, and seeing them together was almost like watching brothers standing side by side. They looked alike. Despite Alys being light-haired and possessing a pair of golden eyes, little Brynden had tresses of coal and eyes of deep blue. How strange a thing. "You must be very proud of him, Alys. Just look at the boy." He was good, hard-working and honest. "He's as fine as they come. I have no doubt that he'll turn out to be a good sort."_

_Alys looked to her lady with wide eyes. "I suppose so, m'lady. He helps me as best as he can and then some. I love the boy dearly, yet I also fear." A bastard was a bastard no matter how kind his actions or how sharp his wit. "Sometimes I wonder if I chose wisely in keeping him."_

_Surprise crossed Lyanna's face."I won't pretend to know your circumstances, Alys, but for all that he is still of your flesh." Then she looked at the boys once more. _

_"Aye, m'lady, he is. At least half of him." The woman shuffled slightly. "At times it is like living with a ghost."_

_Choosing not to question the woman further, Lyanna crossed her legs at the ankles and allowed herself to fall back against the sand. Her thought drifted to Robert Baratheon. A scowl touched her face. Lyanna was only grateful that the man hadn't joined them. Few things interested the stag and playing with children was not one of them. Robert liked to hunt and drink. Lyanna had known that. But still she'd thought that for his little brothers he would at least try to be different. Instead all she had witnessed were loud rebukes when one made a mistake and harsh insults should they cross him. Whatever difficulties the man was having, it was not right of him to take them out on the defenceless. He was not a bad man exactly, he was just a man Lyanna could never bring herself to grow find of._

_Highly spiritual a being, Lyanna Stark had oft lamented the state of her universe. It seemed that all had forgotten that it was not the human that made his own path, but the gods that guided his hand. It did not matter; they did not matter. Not to men like Robert Baratheon. Lyanna wondered if she would have had a chance at happiness with some man in the North. Karstarks, Boltons, Glovers, Mormonts, Umbers, Manderlys, Flints. Could she have found a man to love there? Perhaps not. Although it was not for lack of trying. _

_Rhaegar reached for the quill, gracefully dipping the tip in black ink. He considered Jon's proposal carefully. "You would have me remove the girl from court, on what grounds?"_

_Shaking his head the older man explained yet again. "You needn't sent her off, if you choose to marry the Lannister maiden. My King, the real needs a Queen. You need an heir." Scratching his beard, Jon went on to say, "Cersei Lannister is from a good family, and she has beauty. She is capable of birthing you a son, surely."_

_"But?" Rhaegar cuts him off. Jon Connington is not fond of Tywin's daughter. This the king knows. The reason, however, eludes him._

_"But she is much like her father, Highness. Give her a finger, and she will take the whole hand." The Lannister were something to behold in their hunger for power. Perhaps even more so since Tywin became the head of his House. Rhaegar nodded. "Find her another to wed, someone of high-enough rank to please both heart and mind."_

_"Who do you suggest?" Cersei was ever bold in her attempts to gain his attention, and Rhaegar, if he was truthful, had grown tired of the display. Of late he found himself avoiding the girl when he could._

_"Lord Stark's eldest sons remain unwed." The North had sought ties to the South before. Rhaegar had hear word of such during his father's rule. "They would accept a Southron, perhaps even more gladly is shed brought with her a fat purse." _

_Rightly so, Rhaegar thought. His own marriage to Elia had been based on such considerations. Lord Stark would need to be sent a raven. However he could not order the marriage. "I may have a solution, my friend. A tourney is long since overdue." Provided, of course, that the financial state of the realm allowed for such an even. "What say you?"_

_"Aye, a tourney would serve well. But what occasion should be invoked?" Granted the people cared little for the occasion so long as they could lose themselves in a skin of wine, and the bosom of a wench, but suspicion was a dangerous thing._

_"My friend, I am searching for a wife. What better occasion to meet her than a tourney?" He looked down at the blots of ink on a previously stainless paper. Something cold stole over him - a moment of hesitation. "Tell them it is held for the man I want to honour. To my Hand, Lord Lannister." Indeed, they would suspect nothing, and if he played his cards right, Rhaegar would have won more than one victory._

_"As you wish," the other replied, falling in a bow. "I go to do your bidding."  
Relaxing in his chair, Rhaegar threw the quill away from his hand. He did need to seriously consider finding a new wife. Dorne may have accepted the ruling of a woman, the other kingdoms would not. Male heirs were needed. Better yet if he found a bride at the tourney. A bride that was not a Lannister maiden with flowing golden lock and mesmerising green eyes. The real problem was Tywin._

_It was no secret that his own father had loved the Lady Lannister when the woman yet lived. His own, crazy father has lusted after his Hand's wife, and none had dared point out the immorality. Least of all his own mother, too taken with care of her younger son and her new-born daughter. _

_Apparently Tywin's lady died giving birth to a horribly deformed child. A dwarf. The boy was almost of an age with his sister. But seldom did Tywin talk of the boy. He much preferred extolling the many virtues of his daughter and the sure hand of his son. Tyrion Lannister was an afterthought at best, and one of a bitter kind if any was to be asked. Joanna Lannister had left quite a storm in her wake._

_A knock on his door provided distraction. Rhaegar bid whoever it was to enter. In came Arthur Dayne, a friend of his met through his deceased now wife. "Arthur."_

_"I saw your friend in a hurry. What have you done now, good King?" A peculiar being, Arthur Dayne had felt deeply for Rhaegar's wife."Has the fair lady Lannister succeeded in convincing you of her love? Alas, poor girl. She is to be pitied."_

_"Not at all," Rhaegar laughed. "I shall not marry her. You know my stand on this. But you are more than welcome to her." By the looks of him, neither did he desire the woman. "You too will need a wife soon. Have you not given thought to it?"_

_Glancing downwards, Arthur cleared his throat. "Elia asked me the same after Rhaenys was born." Violet eyes met a pair much the same. "I see her still when I close my eyes. All that blood." The memory stole over both. "Why ever did you allow me to stay?"_

_"She was always happier in your company." Whether Elia had loved the man as more than a brother, Rhaegar was not concerned. Yet he'd noticed her smile widening just so at his approach, heard her laugh in the other's company, and as his love for her was not a thing of passion, her turning her attentions upon another did not wound._

_"You…," Arthur allowed the surprise to seep in his word, "did you ever consider me your rival? When it came to Elia?"_

_"Nay, that I did not." A few words, so simple. That was all it took. "You brought her comfort. Something which I could not give her for all I tried. I knew I could not love her as she deserved. I could be Prince to her, husband, brother, friend. But lover. Not I."_

_"Nor I." It was quite the first time Rhaegar had heard that. He leaned in, a curious look on his face. "So say you? I thought for sure she loved a man from the way she sighed so heavily when she thought herself unobserved." She had loved, but not him, nor he her. _

_"That she did." But the lord said no more. It appeared that Arthur would disclose no more. "Tell me, who shall you marry?"_

_"A maid that does not go by the name of Cersei Lannister." Arthur's knowing smile prompted a grin for the King. "Would you care to offer me advice on this matter?"_

_"I say you pick the first one that strikes your fancy. It is unusual for your instinct to fail you."By far the most truthful words of the day. "And yet, choose not of Dorne or House Tyrell."_

_Another Queen of Dorne would not appease the lords. They all waited for the King to come in his need for a woman and choose one of their daughters. Many were they that dreamed of being Queen. Silly girls with feathers for brains. They knew not what it entailed and yet they desired it above all. As for House Tyrell, the fact that Dorne held little love for them was no secret either. They would take it as an affront if Rhaegar replaced Elia with a Rose maiden. Surely there were other options available to him. Rhaegar needed not a beauty; but a wit, and someone trustworthy. Was he asking the gods for the impossible?_

_"Wise of you," Rhaegar answered. "Now, I require your word that you shall make an appearance at the tourney."_

_"You wish me there in case the horde of unmarried maiden decides to hunt for dragon scales." They would hunt either way. "But I shan't refuse else I fear you'll name me coward, when you yourself tremble at the thought of it."_

_Instead of admitting to it, Rhaegar looked away. The sun was yet upon the sky, but not for long. Again that chill crept down his spine. Was it a warning? If so, against what? Silence fell over the room and its occupants. Yet words were not always needed. As both men had something to contemplate, it was quite enjoyable to be left with one's thoughts._

_His thought found Elia once again. She had told him to look for another wife before her death. Rhaegar had been too busy caring for her to give much attention to her words. What could he have done then? Search for another wife when the flowers had not yet wilted on her final resting place. Oberyn would have likely poisoned his wine for such an act._

_And speaking of Elia's young brother, little had been said of him. His sister's death had been a great blow. Rhaegar was aware that they were close, both in age, and as companions. He would have to issue an invitation for them too. _

_"Can you not tell me a happy tale?" Lyanna asked._

_"Happiness is for dreamers and their dreams," Old Nan replied. The North had stories aplenty, but most ended in death. "Have you learned so little?"_

_"One more dead king, and I will suffer no more stories from your mouth." Lyanna winced at her own voice. She ought not to speak so harshly. "Surely there must be at least a few ending that bring tears of joy and not of sorrow to my eyes."_

_"Shall I tell of the bridge over the Trident then?" The crone sat herself comfortably in a chair by the fire."I promise this end will not bring tears to your eyes, unless you cry out of joy."_

_Old Nan knew well enough that Lyanna avoided crying when she could. The girl was everything her dear mother had been and more stony still. Lady Lyanna kept her emotions hidden deeply within her bosom. For one so young, she knew too well that particular art. And yet she wept for a hurt horse and for the Prince frozen when he'd failed to save his beloved. She wept when the High King cursed his daughter, bold and witty, to fall for the first creature in her path, and cried even harder when she fell for a butterfly, which died in her hands._

_"Speak not of Enydae and Sydor, or Salla and brave Irsol. If you must tell me about the fool and the Peach tree, but nothing of death tonight."_

_The fool and the Peach tree was a beloved tale of the common folk. It was full of bawdy references and lacked refinement, yet it brought a smile to the lips of the listener. If only for the fact that its hero was a fool, unlikely to go against his nature and find himself in the middle of a tragedy. It was an old song turned pose, as sometimes it was impossible for those not born bards to remember all the verses. Lyanna herself remembered the action clearly but not the fine words, though she'd heard the song enough times in her father's halls. _

_"Nay, child. I'll tell you about the ridge over the Trident. This story you've not heard yet, I'm sure."As was her custom the old woman stared in the fire for a few moments. Anticipation started building in the room. Lyanna settled under the covers when beady eyes turned to her again."Like that, little one. Best hide under those covers while you can." Sometimes such words poured out of her mouth. Lyanna had learned to ignore them._

_"Begin you story, or speak no more." Her grace often failed her when she was impatient. "Go one. Tell your story."_

_"What you hear is more a memory than a story. For it did happen in truth." 'Tis is what was said of all stories. Lyanna waved her hand. "Patient child. Valyria did not rise to power in one day, or did the Targaryens take the Westeros in a matter of hours." A brief pause. "Now, the Riverlands are not unknown to you, and the Trident is a friend, old as time that river. But what do you know of the magic of old? Nothing."_

_"Enough to know 'tis but a story," the girl retorted._

_"As you say. A King, now wise, nor particularly good, one day, seeing as his spouse gave no child to him, made a pact with the fae of the East. They would give him a child, and he would build for them a bridge over a running water of their choosing. The King accepted. Stupid fools knew not that he'd sealed the fate of his kingdom in his folly."_

_"How so?" Lyanna asked. "A King needs an heir."_

_"Aye. But the fae are a naughty folk. They keep their word only as much as they think will suffice. In this they did the same. The King received a child, indeed, once the last stone of the bridge was laid. But what a child!"_

_Did she not mean heir? Lyanna leaned in. Nan continued. "A beautiful child, with skin as white as fresh snow, and golden, golden hair – a gift from the followers of the sun – and eyes the colour of honey. Yet she was not what the king had wanted. A child, aye. But a girl she was; as sure as mine own name, 'twas a girl they gave for his work."  
Lyanna giggled. She has expected that. "Good! He deserved it."_

_"In his anger, the King took the child and demanded an explanation. The fae fluttered their wings of summer rays. They tittered. They laughed at him. They danced around the wide-eyed child, whispering in her ears. One by one they touched a finger or a toe, a hair of her head, a cheek of smooth skin." A sudden cough interrupted the story. Nan recovered quickly though. "So the King decided he would break the bridge for their betrayal and the child's blood would stain the stone steps."_

_"I thought you were telling me a happy story," the young woman protested._

_"Happy. Happy," Nan parroted. "But what the King did not know was that the his own Queen had taken a liking to the child. Devising a plan, she took the girl and wrapped instead a skin filled with wine in her place. She gingerly covered the skin in silk and gave it to her husband, telling him to throw the babe before it could wake and cry, so the folk may not know of the cruelty. And so the man did. Upon his wife's word he rode to the bridge and threw the burden in his hands as far as he could."_

_"And the little girl?" Lyanna had almost jumped out of the bed._

_"In this time the Queen placed the babe in the arms of a scullery maid, telling her to care for the child as if it were her own. She gave for that gold and silver and promises…"_

_Cersei stroked her long hair, a smile on her lips. She looked in the glass. Her smile widened. "He smiled at me today," she whispered excitedly to her reflection. "I know he likes me, I just know." After all, no man could resist her. Cersei leaned back in her chair. She would be Queen. She would he Rhaegar's wife and give him many, many strong sons and beautiful daughters._

_"Has he, indeed?" Tywin asked. It might have been pride on his face. Cersei could not tell. "Then why does he not speak more than two words to you?"_

_"His wife died, father. Perhaps he fears bringing me injury." In her mind it made sense. "He is almost ready. I know it. Give me a little more time."_

_"As much as you wish," he replied. "I know it is a task that takes effort." Alas that did not stop him from being disappointed with the King's lack of passion when it came to his daughter. She was a woman not many could ignore and Tywin had hoped that given the obsession the Mad King had had with Joanna would have triggered some inability in the son to resist his daughter._

_Cersei was her mother's very image. Tall and slender, with a head full of golden curls and the most amazing green eyes. She was beauty incarnated. So how come Rhaegar took one look at her and found her lacking. He has thought that after Elia Martell – who had not been exceptionally pretty or especially endearing – the boy would appreciate a wife with beauty._

_Thinking about Joanna always brought a host of memories upon his that he could not easily tolerate. Joanna had been the love Tywin never thought he'd find. And there she was, breathing again through their children. Cersei and Jaime. Joanna, Joanna, more dear to him than a mountain of gold. More dear than his position. More dear than his own life. How he wished she'd stayed. He would have forgiven her anything, everything._

_But now there was Cersei. Now there was Jaime. They would carry on the legacy. House Lannister would continue on proudly. The Lion would not fade, not with such fierce cubs. Cersei only needed some more time to convince the king of her adoration._

_A small lion for the throne. The thought would lift even the spirits of the dead. _

_"When does my brother return? Cersei asked, her face frowning. "He's been gone so long."_

_Bonded as twins, the two were inseparable. Tywin indulged her curiosity. "He comes, daughter. I won't be long now." Joanna had feared the closeness between brother and sister. Tywin had laughed softly, assuring her that it was better like that. Cersei would always find help and protection in her brother. "Give him time." _

_"I have given him enough time," she answered sullenly. To her it felt as if her own brother was avoiding her. And for what had he left her? For the monstrosity her mother had birthed before dying._

_Aye, no better word existed for the strange, sickening creature that was her youngest brother. Tyrion Lannister was, simply put, a dwarf. Not a miniature man, cute and childlike. But a twisted imitation of a human, with a big head and too small body. How that had come out of her mother, Cersei honestly did not want to know. But she dearly wished her brother did not give the creature so much attention._

_What could she do? Jaime had a soft heart and he could not help but pity their brother. She supposed she ought to wait patiently for his return. When he did come back they would finally be together. They could walk the gardens and be with one another all they liked. Two halves of the same whole. It hurt to be apart from him. The only thing that kept her going was her own ambition. And yet, it still upset her, even if she did not wish to let it show. In a perfect world she would not need to hide her love for him._

_Targaryen wed brother to sister for hundreds of years. And Cersei was not likely to take her brother's seed. In all their years it had not happened once. She was careful. Jaime too. No problem would ever expose them. And if did, what? If others could get away with this supposed abomination what stopped her and her brother? The Faith of the Seven? The gods were absent. Had they been there, her life would have been another. Had the gods cared enough, her mother would have still been with her. They would all be happy. She would have no need of Dragons and others. The Lion would sit the throne proudly. In a perfect world. But her world was not perfect._

_The soft summer rain beat against the wood. Cersei scowled thinking al the mud. The skirts of her dress would be stained if she was not careful. And she had planned to take Jaime with her for a walk, away from prying eyes. "Damn this rain." Again the scowl._

_Tywin smiled. Indeed, she reminded him of Joanna. "Your mother disliked the rain too." The sun had always looked better, nestling its rays in her curls. Joanna had been a creature of light, that nobody could deny. Her children seemed to follow her in that. Her sweetness and his wit. So perfect a combination. "On the morrow you will need to wake early."_

_"The King goes hunting?" Curious. Rhaegar Targaryen did not hunt. _

_"Not al all," Tywin answered. "But I would like you to be present for your brother's arrival. He brings with him a surprise."_

_Now Cersei was sure she would not be able to sleep a wink. It stood on the tip of her tongue to ask what he spoke of. But she held herself back. She would find out in a few short – rather long in her opinion – hours. Jaime could not arrive fast enough. Cersei smiled at her reflection._

_"Of course. I miss my brother dearly, and would like nothing better than to greet him." In a manner of her own, away from the eyes of all. But that she did not say. Some things her father did not need to know. "I shall see you come morning."_

_That night Cersei tossed and turned. She had predicted it. Yet she could not avoid it, just as she could not deny that her heart jumped at the mere though of seeing her sweet brother again. How lonely she'd been without him. The bed felt so big in his absence. "Jaime, come! Ride faster," she asked. But not her brother. Nay, she prayed to the stars._

_They were thousands. Surely they could bring word to her brother. And he would come. Fast as the wind on his horse._

_Sleep eluded her. Cersei played with the corners of her coverings. "It is simply too long until morning." Yet she had nowhere to go. She sighed and closed her eyes. _

* * *

_**A/N: The title comes from a song "El Rey de Francia" (the King of France). You can find it on YouTube in many amazing interpretations.**  
_


End file.
